


Colors That Devastate

by AphroditesLaw



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Pining, Private Investigator Lexa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29867214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AphroditesLaw/pseuds/AphroditesLaw
Summary: Lexa is a private investigator hired to trail and befriend her client’s girlfriend, Clarke. But separating business from pleasure might be more difficult than anticipated.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin & Lexa, Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 38
Kudos: 301
Collections: Clexaweek2021





	Colors That Devastate

In a drab building on Polis Street, her office was one of many. It was small, cramped, and smelled like the fried foods from the street vendors. There were file cabinets against the walls and one desk in the center covered with piles of documents, thick folders, and post-its of varying sizes. It wasn't a disorganized office but it wasn't an intuitive system either, where one person could go in and immediately figure out where the important papers were.

Lexa liked it that way. It was her mess; she knew how to navigate it. Besides, her reputation preceded her. Clients didn’t come here to be coddled, they came for hard proof of their strongest suspicions. It didn’t matter what the décor was when they found out their spouse was fucking the neighbor or their babysitter was dealing happy pills to moms. All that mattered were the pictures in front of them. Would they strengthen their divorce case? Would they make it easier to press charges? Would they vindicate them in the eyes of the law and everyone else who had dismissed their fears? Such were the questions Lexa heard every day.

Often, clients were disappointed to be wrong.

“Collins. You’re punctual.”

Finn Collins was Lexa’s bread and butter. Not him, per se, but his type. He didn’t have much of an ego, crushed by three older brothers and self-pity, but he was a lawyer with an Ivy League background and too much cash on hand. His childhood had been charmed and rejection had rarely come his way. In the Collins family, problems were solved with money and questions were answered with money. There was nothing it couldn't do. The Finns of this world always came back for more and spared no expenses, which Lexa didn’t discourage.

Finn had come to her three weeks ago with a straightforward question: was his girlfriend of five years unfaithful? He had given Lexa their background - together since law school, a feat in itself - and several pictures. Clarke Griffin was a tax attorney at a small but busy firm, a boring position for a remarkably unboring person. It hadn’t taken long for Lexa to uncover that, and it would’ve taken Finn even less to find out himself, but confrontation was not in his toolbox.

Like a nervous creature he sat down in front of her, one leg already bouncing up and down. “Well? What did you find?” he asked.

“Good news. Your girlfriend isn’t a cheater.” Lexa pulled out a folder from her top drawer and dropped it on the desk. “She’s a painter.”

Lexa had followed Clarke after work to a quiet street in the Ashtree District, where she had entered the Community Art Center. Various classes were offered there to people of all ages, from amateur to veteran. It was an unpretentious, bustling place, and next to it was the affiliated Community Culinary Center, with smells coming out of it that reminded Lexa of her very office, tangy and sugary. It hadn’t been an unpleasant stakeout.

Every Tuesday and Thursday evening, Clarke went up two floors to a large classroom where a dozen easels were arranged to form an arch. She took off the blazer covering her summer dress (she had a collection of those) and pulled out a paint-stained oversized shirt from her stuffed briefcase. She sat in front of a tall easel and discretely slipped off her heels, chatting with the other students until class began. Gone was the tax attorney, her weary features and quiet sighs replaced by a vibrant artist full of a lust for creation.

Lexa had seen enough in three weeks to know this was Clarke Griffin’s world, the one where she expressed such an important part of herself, which she had clearly repressed for years. Perhaps it was because her everyday life was so dull that she gravitated toward bright colors, great sweeps of lush greens meeting warm oranges and rich purples. She painted nature taking over cities; vines and flowers devouring buildings. She drew people ridding themselves of their suits, of their shirts, of their tight shoes and bras, the duality of her own predicament. It was strange; it was unique. Above all it wasn't what you’d expect if you saw her at work, reviewing tax documents all day and typing numbers into spreadsheets.

“What?” Finn went through the stack of pictures, his face scrunching up in confusion. “No, that’s- that’s not Clarke.”

“Oh? She has a twin?” Lexa asked sardonically.

Finn stared at the pictures of his girlfriend sitting in front of a canvas, blinking like it might suddenly change what he saw. Lexa had taken the shots from the rooftop of the opposite building, an easy task given the large windows of the classroom.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered. “Clarke doesn’t have an artistic bone in her body.”

Lexa’s eyebrow ticked up.

“Come on, she’s a _tax lawyer_ ,” he stressed.

“Have you ever heard of hobbies? It’s an activity people engage in. Me, for example, I like squash. Would you ever guess it?”

He shook his head, dismissive. “You don’t know her like I do. There’s something more to this.”

Lexa glanced at the clock perched on a file cabinet. “Look, I followed your girlfriend for three weeks. She didn’t walk into that building with anyone and she left alone. Sometimes she went to the nearby bar with other students and had a cocktail. She didn’t flirt and she didn’t respond to flirting. You have no reason to worry.”

Finn scratched his stubble. He had a few tics Lexa had noticed. He picked up another picture, where a woman was hunched next to Clarke and pointing at something on her canvas. “What about the teacher? Was she in the group when they went out? Clarke is bi, did you know that? I should’ve told you that. They’re pretty close here...”

Lexa stretched her arms over her head. She had suspected Finn wouldn’t be satisfied with the truth. Infidelity would be easier to understand than the realization he didn’t know the woman he claimed to love. “The teacher’s teaching.”

“Well maybe-“ he took out a wad of money from his wallet- “you could join that class for a few weeks. Clarke has this quirk where she _has to_ befriend anyone who looks slightly out of their element, like she’s responsible for their comfort or something. When we worked together she’d do it all the time with new hires and interns. She’d definitely talk to you.”

He said it with an eye-roll and Lexa had to wonder if she heard him right. Like his girlfriend being sweet to others was irritating, but he had learned to live with it and somehow that made him the better person.

“Collins, what does the sign on my door say?”

He turned around as if he’d be able to read through the door. “Uh, private investigator?”

“It says _Not a fucking chaperone_. That’s verbatim.”

Unsurprisingly, he opened his wallet and pulled out more money. “Please, here’s an advance. Look, I know I sound like a lunatic, but I bought a ring and… Fuck. If she’s not in it anymore, what’s the point? I’d rather know now than five years down the road.”

Undercover work was hardly Lexa’s brand, but just as Finn was eager to hand out cash, she was happy to take it. She had an office to pay for, after all, and an apartment with utilities too. Her morals took a backseat to bills.

“I’ll be in touch.”

——

The following week, Lexa arrived early at the art center. She went up to the classroom and hovered around the doorway. She had traded her trusty leather jacket for a dark green sweater, and her combat boots for plain white sneakers, a more approachable look. It was about fifteen minutes before she knew Clarke usually arrived. Sometimes she was even a few minutes late, slowed down by rush hour traffic or a chatty colleague at work.

“Are you Lexa?” the teacher asked from her spot by the window, where she was cleaning paint brushes in a large sink. Flecks of dried paint covered her forearms.

“I am. Sorry, I didn’t realize how early I’d be.”

“Gives you time to get comfortable. We spoke on the phone,” the woman said as she extended her hand. “I’m Anya.”

Lexa shook it. “Nice to meet you.”

Anya showed her a corner of the room where easels were propped up and a few canvases were stored. “Set yourself up wherever you want. As for size, I usually recommend new students start small. You haven’t taken any classes before, right?”

“No. I was thinking I could try a straight line,” Lexa answered dryly.

Anya smirked. “You’d be surprised how many people can’t manage that. I don’t believe in baby steps, though. You can go through some of the magazines over there and find yourself a reference picture, if you don’t have one already. We’ll start from there and adjust.”

Lexa nodded and went to grab an easel, having already spotted Clarke’s seat. She set herself up in the space between Clarke and another student, nothing too cozy but close enough to talk. She glanced at Clarke’s canvas and stopped, taking in the progress she’d made on this piece.

It was different to her naked eye than through her camera’s lens from the rooftop, where she hadn’t been too focused on the content. This painting was smaller than her last one, showing a clothed woman beneath a waterfall, her body half-engulfed but still standing strong. The colors were soothing to look at, pale blues and greys surrounded by sharp greens. Clarke experimented with green a lot. She worked fast, too, at least compared to the other students.

Lexa put her hair up in a ponytail and plopped down on her stool. She stared at the blank canvas, wondering how she was going to pull this off. The last thing she’d drawn was a Valentine’s Day card for her father in fifth grade, and even then the heart had looked like a crooked triangle. Frankly, she didn’t have the imagination for it.

“You’re taking an awful risk with that sweater,” Anya said from across the room, where she was now washing her hands.

Lexa frowned at the blunt statement. Anya pointed toward a rack where smocks and aprons were hanging.

“Oh no, that’s fine,” Lexa said.

“Suit yourself,” Anya replied. “But you’re working with acrylic, and it dries fast.”

“I thought I’d stick with a pencil today.”

Anya dried her hands. “Then you should’ve taken a drawing class.”

She said nothing after that and Lexa stewed for a moment. Two women walked in, happily catching up as they took their seats. They spoke with Anya too, sharing a laugh before they started pulling out their own materials and getting ready for the class. Lexa had known this was a tight-knit group, even with the differences in age. The two women were in their sixties and retired, but the majority were working professionals like Clarke, and only one was a high-school student.

Lexa would have to show some willingness to blend in if she wanted to be approached.

“Fuck,” she muttered before walking toward the rack. She selected one of the light blue smocks and buttoned it over her sweater, pushing the sleeves up so she didn’t look like a circus tent.

She flipped through one of the old magazines for a picture, trying to find something easy enough to replicate. A travel agency advertisement caught her eye, showing mountains in the background and a Swiss chalet in front. _How hard can a landscape be?_ she thought.

Anya gave her a dozen tubes of paint and brushes of all sizes. “This should get you started nicely.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your patience.”

“We’ve just met, Lexa.”

“I’m sure you’ll realize what I mean in less than an hour.”

Anya shrugged. “Just don’t bring your drama here and we’ll be fine.”

More students filtered in, greeting each other and then Lexa too, happy to see a new face. It felt nothing like undergrads dragging themselves to a class because it was a requirement, but rather like-minded people eager to delve into their hobby together, sometimes guided by Anya’s expert hand.

When Clarke walked in, she was catching her breath from what must’ve been a mad dash. She noticed the newcomer and brightened immediately.

“Hi, I’m Clarke,” she said as she dropped her briefcase on her stool.

Lexa smiled. “Lexa.”

“ _Lexa_ ,” Clarke repeated as she took off her blazer and pulled out the oversized shirt from her briefcase. “It’s nice to have a new neighbor.”

Lexa looked at the empty seat next to her. “Not a fan?” she asked lightly. In fact she already knew that Clarke’s left neighbor was the quietest of the group.

“Oh Lincoln is great, he’s just very quiet.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Clarke buttoned the shirt over her dress. “Is this your first class here?”

“Hmm. To be honest I didn’t even know this place existed until last month.”

“Are you an artist?”

“No. In fact you’ll probably want to change seats when you see the monstrosities I produce.”

Clarke grinned. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

——

If Lexa could describe the class in one word, it would be comforting. It’d been one thing to observe from her cold spot on a rooftop, it was another to be inside. Anya went around the room and stayed with each person for a few minutes, commenting and suggesting different things. Sometimes Lexa heard them laugh, or heard snippets of conversations between other students. Anya worked on her own painting as well, snacking on chips here and there. It felt like being a guest in someone’s living room, only it wasn’t strange and unfamiliar.

As for Lexa’s painting, she had finished mixing an ugly brown color after fifteen minutes of experimenting when Anya came over and stood behind her. Earlier she had helped Lexa with the underpainting, though it still perplexed her why such a thing was necessary.

“Why don’t you try the background instead of the house? Get comfortable with the bold strokes before you get into the details.”

“I was going to take an abstract approach,” Lexa said.

“Right now you’re not approaching anything. Get that brush on the canvas, worry about style later.”

Anya moved on to Lincoln next, leaving Lexa to stare at her palette.

“Don’t worry, Anya is like that with everyone,” Clarke told her quietly. “She just wants to see what your level is.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Clarke bit her lip. “I’m curious. What made you want to take the class?”

“My godson, Aden,” Lexa lied. “He’s a budding Picasso. His mother insists he came out of the womb with a paintbrush and a palette.”

“My god, that must’ve hurt. Was it wood or ceramic?”

Lexa laughed in surprise. “I’m fairly certain she was too drugged up to tell the difference. Regardless, he _is_ very talented for a six year old and he’s obsessed with this app - you know how you draw something and the other person has to guess what it is? Unfortunately he only wants to play it with me. It’s ‘Lexa and Aden time’ and no one should dare interrupt.”

“A badge you should wear proudly.”

“Well, my characters look like misshapen nightmare fuel and I worry it’ll scar him one day. Or worse, put him off art. So I’d like to understand some basics to keep up with him. At least know how to paint a pear that doesn’t look like a grape.”

Clarke’s eyes went wide. “A whole pear? But Lexa, that'll take years!”

Lexa humphed. “You mock but it might be the case.”

Clarke shook her head with a smile before getting back to her painting. “I think we can get you there.”

Lexa got the feeling that when Clarke said something, she meant it. Already she could hardly understand how Finn doubted her honesty or loyalty. But she’d been wrong in the past about well-intentioned people; sometimes their deception ran deep.

——

It was dark when the class ended. Lexa had played it safe, painting swatches of green all over her canvas before outlining some mountains in an icy blue color. Frankly, there was nothing pretty about it. A cat could’ve done a better job by dragging its tail all over it. But it hadn’t all been for nothing. Clarke and her had exchanged some pleasantries about types of paints, some light chatting between two strangers just getting to know each other. Lexa was many things, but impatient was not one of them.

They walked out together, and even when they went down the stairs Lexa couldn’t help but look at the back of Clarke’s head, oddly nervous about the whole thing. She’d befriended people for a job before, though not often. She knew what strings to pull and how to be charming. But there had always been a goal in mind. Here Lexa already knew what Finn was too hesitant to believe. Clarke wasn’t a cheater. She was perhaps a bit lost, and reconsidering her life’s goals, but Lexa had found nothing that could put in question her love for him.

Outside the building, Clarke stopped when they started going in opposite directions. “I’m headed that way.”

Lexa nodded. “I’ll see you Thursday?”

Clarke smiled. “Looking forward to it.”

——

Thursday came fast, and was a welcome change after a mind-numbing Wednesday sitting in her car. Lexa had trailed the step-son of a rich widow who was convinced he was pissing his fortune away, which he was indeed. She had first stayed outside of the strip joint he frequented, eventually making her way inside to find him slipping Franklins beneath the thongs of six different dancers. Lexa had snapped the pictures she needed with her phone and left, though the smell of smoke and sweat still clung to her clothes the next day.

It felt almost surreal to walk into the classroom - how quickly the scenery changed in her life. Deception was on Lexa’s mind that day; how easy it was for people to lie to each other. Yet she still couldn’t picture Clarke purposefully deceiving anyone.

During class, she glanced at Clarke’s painting and felt an intense curiosity. There were flowers added in the waterfall, wet petals gliding down the woman’s face and soaked hair. But there was also the outline of a city in the background now, faint but unmistakable.

“Why not just nature?” Lexa asked.

Clarke’s brush stilled. “What do you mean?”

“It was only nature Tuesday,” Lexa clarified. “Now it’s changed. I was wondering why.”

Clarke looked back at her painting, as if she hadn't realized what she'd changed about it. “The city is my day-to-day; it’s ingrained in me. But nature makes it more interesting. When I’m on the bus and look out the window, I pass the time like that - imagining something less dull, like vines wrapping around a fire escape, or walking out of the bus straight into a lake.”

“You think about this at work?”

Clarke laughed. “Well, yeah. Don’t you get bored behind your desk sometimes?”

Boredom was Lexa’s best friend. She’d never be able to do her job otherwise. It was a slow killer for anyone who couldn’t stand it.

“No, but they do say boredom breeds creativity. Maybe I should give it a try.”

“Wait, I don’t even know what you do.”

“It’s nothing exciting. I collect data for an advertising company. Analyzing people’s habits, that sort of thing.”

Clarke started mixing a light blue color on her palette. “So you know what office life is like then. Don’t you ever let your imagination run?”

“Do you mean do I spend hours obsessing over which sandwich shop I’ll go to during lunch? Yes.”

Clarke shook her head in amusement. “Not like that. I mean thinking about doing something that would completely change your world.”

“Ah, but you’re talking to someone completely averse to change.”

“I find that hard to believe. You’re taking a painting class with a bunch of strangers, aren’t you?”

“A couple strangers, some familiar faces now,” Lexa corrected with a smile.

Clarke waved her away with a smile of her own. “ _My point being_ , there’s a creative mind somewhere in there and we’re going to wake it up.”

——

Lexa was invited to get drinks with a few others from the group, a tradition they had recently started. They walked over to the nearby bar, The Maple Tavern, just two blocks away, and ordered drinks for their table.

Lexa stuck to an IPA while Clarke asked for a Cosmo rather sheepishly. The group chatted over a basket of fries and pretzels, bemoaning their jobs or celebrating small accomplishments. Echo for example was a public defender with a rough Friday ahead, while Maya had just been promoted to office manager and was on cloud nine.

It was a strange thing to listen to these ordinary walks of life. Lexa was so used to trailing the sad and the bizarre that sometimes she forgot how pleasantly mundane people could be.

The group parted ways naturally, and when Clarke left with Wells, her other neighbor in class, Lexa sat at the bar and stayed for another beer.

“You were quiet tonight.”

Lexa looked up and found Clarke sitting on one of the barstools next to her.

“I thought you left.”

“Nah, Wells just wanted to show me pictures of his baby girl that he didn’t want to bore the others with.”

“Cute.”

“She’s _adorable_. I could seriously eat her up, but don’t tell him that.” Clarke grabbed a few pistachios from Lexa’s ramekin. “So how’s your Friday shaping up?”

Lexa picked up her beer. “Long.”

“I know the feeling. I have an appointment with this ridiculously wealthy woman, where I'll be sifting through binders of paperwork she never files properly. Every year I think, this is it, Nia Icelord is the reason I’m quitting.”

“So why don’t you?”

The question surprised Clarke. She brushed it off. “Well, you know.”

Lexa wasn’t sure why she wanted to push the issue. She wasn’t here to be a counselor. But what Finn had said had ticked her off. _Clarke doesn’t have an artistic bone in her body_. It was so profoundly absurd now that Lexa had seen her intense passion for it in person, but if Clarke squashed this side of her at home, he clearly wasn’t aware of it at all. Lexa couldn’t fathom why Clarke did it.

“I actually thought you might be a professional when I saw your painting the first time. I don’t know much about art, but that level of detail and color work would impress anyone…”

Clarke seemed flustered. “That’s- _ha_. Can you imagine? Bored lawyer with the 9 to 5, drinks Cosmos, secretly wants to be an artist,” she laughed weakly.

“We’ve established my imagination is shoddy at best, but… I can see it, yeah.”

“But that’s such a cliché, isn’t it? Jumping from a corporation to a complete fantasy.”

“Do you really care about that?” Lexa asked.

Clarke’s shoulders sagged. “No, not really.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You’re not,” Clarke said. “It’s just that anyone can be decent with work and patience. It doesn’t make it special.”

“People like me can be decent with time and some dedication,” Lexa agreed. “But _you’re_ incredible.”

Clarke’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. She seemed hesitant to say what was on her mind, but eventually bit the bullet: “Have you ever wanted something that you knew would upset everyone in your life? So much so that you’d end up wondering if it was even worth it?”

Lexa nodded. “I realized I wanted a girlfriend when I was sixteen. That disgusted most of my friends and my grandmother stopped talking to me. So for a while I denied myself what made them uncomfortable.”

Clarke sat up. “And then what happened?”

Lexa took a sip of her beer. “I got a girlfriend and new friends.”

“Good for you.”

“It was.” Lexa noticed that Clarke had somewhat lost her spirit and felt an odd pang in her chest. “But hey, my grandma came around eventually. When someone really loves you, your happiness is more important than their beliefs.”

Clarke held her eyes, and for a beat Lexa held her breath, because it felt like releasing it might ruin the moment. Clarke was captivating, both in the bright light of the classroom and the dim light of the bar, and it was unclear whether that made it easier or more difficult to look at her.

“I’m glad you joined our little group,” Clarke said.

Lexa finally exhaled. “Me too.”

——

It was the first Tuesday of the month when Lexa walked into a very different scene. The sheer shades were drawn and a half-nude model was standing on a small platform and talking to Anya, his hand precariously holding a sheet around his waist.

Lexa hurried to her stool. “What is this?” she asked in horror as she dropped her satchel on the floor.

Clarke had already arrived and was setting up. “That’s a man, Lexa.”

“Naked. _Why?_ ”

“That’s usually the point of a figure drawing class. You know, drawing anatomy.”

“What are we talking about?” Wells interjected.

“Men,” Clarke supplied teasingly.

“No, we are not,” Lexa protested “Did I miss a memo?”

“Every first Tuesday of the month is figure painting,” Clarke explained. “Some people like Lincoln dip out - he’s a still life diehard - and a couple new faces pop in to get some practice in. It’s usually pretty busy.”

“In the name of art and not thirst, of course," Wells added with a grin. Clarke shoved his shoulder and he laughed on his way to the smock rack.

While Anya presumably discussed the best pose with the model, the man sat down on a chair and shifted one thigh, giving Lexa a peek at hairy skin. She looked away, willing the image away from her brain. It was nothing she wasn’t used to, as someone who snapped pictures of unfaithful men in the act too often to count, but she hadn’t expected it here, and so close to her.

“How cocky must you be to do this?”

Clarke put her hair up in a loose bun. “I disagree. It’s a very vulnerable position to be in. You have a whole room of people scrutinizing your traits for hours - it requires a lot of fortitude. Anyone would become uncomfortable under a microscope.”

“Then why do it?”

Clarke reflected for a moment. “Being vulnerable is fulfilling in its own way. You’re exposing but also embracing every part that makes you… _you_. You’re saying ‘this is me, take it or leave it.’ Also, twelve people are going to be painting him. He becomes art; immortalized on canvas. I’d say that’s a pretty good trade-off.”

Lexa shook her head. “Being vulnerable is an invitation for people to stab you in the back. Case in point, I won't be immortalizing his measurements very accurately.”

Clarke laughed loudly, but quickly muffled it in her sleeve when Anya and the model looked her way. Lexa felt her smile grow; and her chest fluttered with both affection and pride at having made her laugh.

Clarke tried to school her expression. “Alright, I won’t argue with that. But still, I think you might change your mind. There’s just nothing like it.”

“Like?”

“You know, that feeling you get when you bare yourself to someone and they see you. Really see you.”

It struck Lexa just then that she _didn’t_ know, and the notion unsettled her more than she’d admit.

——

The hours passed at light speed. While being stuck in a room with a naked man would’ve normally been a low point in her life, she could overlook it tonight. Lexa had kept her eyes on his face, his objectively handsome features and curly blond locks. Oh she’d painted an atrocious portrait, to be sure, but she had tried her best.

“It’s just the mouth,” she later complained to Clarke as they walked out together. “When you stare at it for a while, it doesn’t make any sense.”

Clarke had done a monochrome painting herself using just three shades of green. One class wasn’t enough for anything overly detailed, but while students like Wells and Maya had gone for a more faithful portrait, Clarke had painted his entire body. The eye she had for anatomy was impressive, even for Anya who had spent some time merely watching her. But it was always her use of color that struck Lexa.

“Mouths are weird,” Clarke agreed. “He had a cute Cupid’s bow though. I like drawing those.”

“Is there anything you don’t like?” Lexa asked rather rhetorically.

Clarke hummed in thought. “Hands. Absolutely hate them. That’s why I hid them behind his back.”

They stopped at the end of the block, ready to part ways again. Lexa looked toward her car. “I could give you a ride if you want.”

Clarke smiled. “I appreciate that, but I’m completely out of your way. You’d waste an hour in traffic alone.”

“Hm,” Lexa shrugged.

Clarke thought of a compromise. “Well, if you like my company so much you can just walk me to the station.”

“Lead the way.”

Clarke chuckled as they started walking. “Something tells me you’re avoiding your home.”

“I guess it’s been a little lonely.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Clarke subtly teased.

Lexa arched a brow. “Because of my wicked good looks? Yes I find it hard to believe too, but it’s the sad truth.”

Clarke laughed loudly again, but this time she didn’t muffle it. They chatted about the ordinary, like the certain rain tomorrow, and the extraordinary, like Clarke’s painting.

It was the shortest, most pleasant evening walk Lexa had ever gone on. But when Clarke waved at her and disappeared in the dull corridor of the train station, Lexa knew she was in dangerous territory.

——

“Finn speaking.”

“Collins, we’re going around in circles.”

Lexa had decided to call Finn the next week, not one to drag out a job if she knew there was nothing more to be found. The classes had unsettled her to a point something had to be done. She found herself actually looking forward to them, which made little sense to her. It was _paint_ \- she was horrible at it. And while she still followed Clarke after work, each time made her feel dirtier than the last. It wasn’t something she was used to.

“So she hasn’t said anything off?” he asked her anxiously.

“You sound disappointed your girlfriend doesn’t have any skeletons in her closet.”

“It’s not that,” he sighed. “She’s been acting distant now. I… I even bought a magazine about hobbies, giving her an opening about the art thing, but she didn’t take the bait.”

“I didn’t realize you were dating a trout. Have you tried communicating verbally instead?”

“What if she blows me off?”

Lexa kicked her feet up on her desk, giving herself a second to avoid any colorful language. “Then you have bigger problems. Clarke is just doing some soul searching, it’s not a crime.”

He took a few seconds to reply. “Has she mentioned me at all?”

“You’ve come up in a _get-to-know-each-other_ context.”

“What did she say?”

“That her boyfriend is a lawyer too.”

“Hm. I can pay more now if that’s what you need…” he trailed off.

Lexa closed her eyes, knowing he wouldn’t let it go. It would be easy to quit, tell him her job here was done... but the classes had turned out to be a needed break from the ugly side of people she constantly filmed and recorded. Besides, Finn was a generous client.

“I’ll stay in the classes, but I’m not following her anymore.”

He thought about it for a moment. “Okay, fine. But make sure to bring me up. Oh and maybe you could mention marriage - like your own dream wedding - and see how she reacts. Women talk about that stuff, right? Also-”

“I’ll be in touch.”

——

After her foray into figure drawing, Lexa was glad to get back to a new landscape. She had botched her last one, it had to be said, and so had decided to move on to another one. Anya didn’t seem opposed. If anything, it was Clarke who had been the saddest to see her mountains and half-assed chalet taken down from the easel.

“We both know it was hideous,” Lexa said as she put up a new, fresh canvas.

“It was experimental. I liked the colors - your blues and greens.”

“Experimental is a word polite people use. You can say ugly.”

“No, it isn’t,” Clarke objected. “It’s a category.”

Lexa smiled at her grumpy tone. “You would make a good kindergarten teacher. Patient and impressed with garbage art.”

Clarke sighed as she picked up a small brush. “You’re very harsh on yourself.”

“I’m not saying I give up. I’m just staying away from structures and people.”

“Your portrait was better than you think.”

“You mean my mouthless man?”

“Well, art doesn’t have to be faithful to reality to be good. If anything, I prefer it when it isn’t.”

The picture Lexa had chosen from one of the magazines was now clipped to the easel. It was the sea at sunset with the silhouettes of boats. The colors were those of a gentle night, warm and soothing.

“I should start my own gallery of mouthless creatures. Make it my signature. People would pay millions and shove each other out of the way to see them.”

Clarke chuckled. “Mouths are really not that difficult.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Okay, I’ll show you.” Clarke dragged her stool next to Lexa’s and grabbed a notebook and pencil from her bag. “When you’re starting out you only need three lines.”

As Clarke drew the first line, their arms brushed and Lexa felt another flutter in her chest. It was a ridiculous reaction to their proximity, but also entirely out of her control.

“That’s the really basic shape,” Clarke said, though Lexa barely heard a word.

She hadn’t realized someone’s smell could affect a person so much. Clarke’s was light and flowery, and somehow it was exactly what Lexa would have expected… if she’d ever wondered about it, which she hadn’t. She tried not to move, alarmed by her body’s response to _sitting next to a woman_. How embarrassing.

“Now for the Cupid’s bow you can just erase the middle of the top curve like this. I personally don’t like to accentuate it too much because that can look cartoonish.” Clarke demonstrated what she meant and then moved on to the lower lip.

Of course Clarke was a leftie, which meant her arm kept brushing against Lexa’s as she drew. Moving aside now would be rude, Lexa thought, and it didn’t seem to bother Clarke, who was fully focused on her sketch.

“The lower lip is usually plumper,” Clarke continued more quietly, as if losing herself into it a bit further each passing second. “Especially in women. Women have very… very nice lips.”

“That’s really good,” Lexa said in a raspier tone. She cleared her throat.

“It's just the gist. Everyone is different obviously, so when you get more comfortable you can play around with details.” Clarke hummed and then rubbed her finger over the drawing to create some shading. She drew a freckle on the top lip and added a slight crease in the middle of the bottom lip. 

Lexa froze. She knew her own face well enough to recognize a part of it on paper. It wasn’t just the freckle either, but the shape as well.

Clarke finally looked at her, her bright smile fading when she realized Lexa had gone still. Her eyes fell to her lips and then she froze, too.

“Oh, uh-” she shut her notebook closed and then looked around. “So that’s a mouth. Just three lines.”

She dragged her stool back to her easel and shoved her notebook in her bag. The seconds dragged on as Lexa stared at her empty canvas.

“Thank you,” she murmured. From the corner of her eye she saw Clarke quickly nod.

“Yep. No problem.”

——

It was a crush.

Lexa knew it during the rest of the class, on her way back home, and while lying in bed that night. A crush on her client’s girlfriend - who was practically engaged, for fuck’s sake. And the worst part was that it wasn’t a terrible thing to feel. Lexa actually liked the way her body felt near Clarke. She liked how her heart sped up, how her stomach flipped, how her skin tingled.

It was a crush. That was all it could be.

——

On Thursday, she had a moment of hesitation when the group started walking toward the bar. Clarke turned around and waited for her.

“Aren’t you coming?” she asked. She had a smile made to break hearts and so Lexa nodded, powerless to stop herself.

Clarke was wearing a summer dress with small daisies today. She’d worn it the first time Lexa had seen her, on the other side of the street with her camera. Her guilt gnawed at her but she tucked it away for the evening.

As usual, most people only stayed for one drink. There was always Friday to keep them from ordering a second or third. They talked about movies they had seen, and art exhibits they had gone to, and when Wells sheepishly pulled out his phone to show photos of his baby girl they all cooed and ‘aww’d’ and talked about family. Lexa couldn’t think of anywhere else she’d like to be.

When they all left she stayed behind, the only one who didn’t care so much about Fridays. She was her own boss. She could come into her office holding a bottle of whisky if she wanted. It wasn’t her style, but she could, and that was the beauty of it.

Still, it was a tempting thought when Clarke slid on the barstool next to her. She ordered another Cosmo and propped her chin on her hand.

“What’s going through your mind?” she asked.

Lexa smiled, because Clarke always made her feel like she was interesting to listen to. “Not much. Just thinking about Friday actually.”

“Big plans?”

“Ordering the largest pizza I can find and watching reruns of a sitcom I love to hate.”

“Oof, who broke up with you?

Lexa chuckled. The bartender brought her beer and Clarke’s cocktail.

“Pizza isn’t only for broken hearts, is it?”

“God, no. Do you know _Indra’s_ on 15th and-“

“-Leader Street. _Obviously_. I’m a connoisseur.”

Clarke grinned. “I haven’t been in forever. Finn hates pizza.”

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

“ _I know._ He literally gags. I have this theory his mother made horribly burnt pizzas and he’s been traumatized since.”

Lexa sipped on her beer. “Maybe you can paint him one. Associate it with something positive.”

Clarke’s smile wavered. “Oh, Finn doesn’t…” she shifted in her seat. “Finn doesn’t know I paint.”

The mood shifted in an instant. Lexa could sense Clarke’s embarrassment keenly. Anyone else might’ve judged her relationship for it. How could her boyfriend of five years not know about her hobby?

“Would he not be supportive?” Lexa asked cautiously.

Clarke shook her head. “I’m sure he would eventually. It’s just been… my little secret for a while now. I wanted to see how far I could take it. And then I kind of liked having my own thing, away from everyone.”

“I get that.”

“Finn is just…” she huffed in frustration. “He was raised to be exactly who he turned out to be. A hardworking lawyer who calls his parents twice a week and puts money aside toward his dream house and dream car. He has his whole life mapped out and… an artsy girlfriend just doesn’t fit the plan.”

“Why should you have to fit his plan, and not the other way around?”

Clarke deflated. “Because it was my plan too. Ours, really. Finn has said and done some stupid things, but at the end of the day he’s always valued my input. Which really is a miracle when you look at how his brothers turned out.”

“That bad?”

“One of them had me in his contacts as _Knockers_ for two years.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I know. Finn actually punched him when he found out.”

“I’d hope so.”

Clarke took another sip of her drink. “It feels like another time now. Like I wasn’t even myself.”

“People change within relationships. It’s a gradual part of them.”

“Did that happen to you?”

Lexa nodded. “I was with that girl I mentioned for six years. We went through high school and college together. Then we started working, and once our worlds changed, we realized we didn’t have anything to talk about. No teachers to complain about, no exams to help each other with, no overlapping circles anymore. It was a shock, to say the least.”

“I don’t want to believe relationships can’t survive change,” Clarke said.

“They can. They do,” Lexa assured her. “Well, I wouldn’t personally know, but I would guess there has to be some willingness to adapt on both sides.”

Clarke looked down at her glass, her expression awfully sad.

A selfish part of Lexa was screaming to steer her in another direction, but it wasn’t her choice to make. Finn wasn’t a bad match. He was misguided and hiring her to get involved in his personal affairs hadn’t been the smartest move, but then what did that make her? It was her taking his money and her doing the dirty work.

“Finn and I made sense for so long,” Clarke said. “We cheered for each other through law school. We have each other’s backs. I thought…”

Lexa waited patiently, watching as Clarke’s frown deepened.

“I thought that it was normal to grow apart, but that at least we’d still grow old together.”

“And now?”

“Now I don’t know what I want anymore. Sometimes I wonder if he loves _me_ or if he loves… that girl he met years ago who was so afraid of the real world that all she did was cling to him. But I’m not that person anymore. I don’t need him to punch his brother for me or promise me the moon. I just want to be myself.”

“What if he wants that too?” Lexa asked her, though her heart sunk as she did it. “What if he loves every part of you, and he’s just waiting for you to be comfortable enough to show him?”

Clarke looked at her and didn’t know what to say. “Then I…” If he loved all of her, there was no reason to worry about their relationship, was there? “I guess that’d be a relief,” she finally replied, though the words sounded hollow.

Lexa nodded. “There you go.” 

There was a painful finality to the moment, as if both knew something had died between them just as quickly as it had bloomed.

——

The phone rang three times, each ring more excruciating than the last. Lexa had closed the shades of her office and was sitting in her chair, waiting to put an end to this.

“Hello? What is it?” Finn asked hurriedly, most likely hiding in the stairwell of his firm.

“Your girlfriend loves you, Finn," Lexa told him in a biting tone. "She isn’t cheating and anyone who met her would tell you it’s not in her nature. There is no affair with a colleague or teacher or bartender. You can sleep easy now.”

“Okay, but, so this art thing-”

“Are you actually giving up on this relationship because the woman who loves you wants to fucking _paint?_ Are those really the fucked up standards you’re holding her to?”

“No, I, it’s just-”

“Then stop acting like you want to lose her. She’s pursuing something that makes her happy, you should be ecstatic. You should be buying her flowers and encouraging her every step of the way.”

“I will! I mean- I don’t get it, but if that’s what she wants-”

“God, you’ve been together five years and you don’t have a clue. The only red flag here is _you_ , so get your head out of your ass and talk to her like an adult.”

He was silent for a moment. “Okay. Yeah, of course. Um, I’m an idiot.”

“I’m glad we agree on something.”

“I really need to stop listening to my brothers. Thank you. I mean it.”

“Check your inbox, Collins. My invoice is in there.”

Lexa hung up and sat back. This was it. Clarke was going to continue going to classes, realize her dream, and Finn Collins would shower her with praise if he knew what was good for him. He would be an even bigger idiot not to and hopefully Lexa had gotten through to him.

Job done. She had no reason to go to class anymore. No reason to speak to Clarke. She had flirted with fire and it had burned her. At least that was one lesson she had learned.

——

The next three months passed slowly, but not quietly. Lexa had taken numerous jobs in that time, some even that she usually wouldn’t have entertained. But she needed every minute filled with something to do, and something to think about, or without fail her thoughts drifted to cream-colored walls and creaking floorboards. The smell of paint was worse than smoke, stubbornly clinging to some of her sweaters and jeans, even after multiple washes. Lexa had never been more aware of the emptiness in her life than now.

She even missed Anya’s frown, that befuddled expression of hers whenever she looked at Lexa’s canvas and said ‘hmm’ before suggesting she try something different. Anya hadn’t given up on her and for that Lexa was grateful. She was a good teacher, even if gruff. Lexa wondered if she’d felt some relief after she had quit.

But too much time spent on these thoughts had Lexa unfocused, and so she drowned them with city noises and work.

——

“I need your help.”

There were few things that surprised Lexa at her job anymore. This call did. She gritted her teeth and counted to three in her head.

“Collins, I will personally find someone for your girlfriend to cheat on you with, because that is _clearly_ what you want-“

“No, no,” Finn replied pitifully. “Not that. She… she broke up with me actually.”

Lexa sat up, her head spinning. “What?”

“Yeah. Two months ago. We had a big talk and, well, she said she wasn’t in love anymore. It made me realize that’s what I’d been picking up on, I just didn’t want to see it.

“I’m sorry to hear it.” For what it was worth, Lexa meant it. Finn was awkward, but he wasn’t ill-intentioned.

“Well, anyway, I was hoping you could look into something for my brother. It’s a dude who owes him money and completely vanished.”

Lexa took notes distractedly as he told her the story, her thoughts entirely on Clarke. She’d broken up with him months ago. Had she moved out? Was she still going to the classes?

Fuck. The hope rising in Lexa's chest had to be the most dangerous feeling in the world.

——

It was the smell that hit her first. The paint and old wood that permeated the air. But it was the teacher that stopped her in the doorway. She was at the sink by the window cleaning out a jar for her brushes, her numerous bracelets clinking with each movement. Lexa remembered that sound well.

“Hello, Anya,” she called out hesitantly.

Anya turned around. She’d dyed her hair a dark blonde and changed up her makeup, accentuating her fierce stare.

“Well, well, didn’t think I’d see you again. You look like a kicked puppy. Am I that scary?”

“You have your moments.”

Anya smirked. “Good. What are you doing here, Lexa? Come to pick up your work?”

“God, no. You didn’t throw it away?”

“Throw away the mouthless man? It makes me laugh too much.”

“At least dump the mountains,” Lexa grumbled.

Anya eyed her curiously. “Clarke took that. She didn’t tell you?”

Lexa felt that pesky hope again. “I was actually… wondering…”

“Yes, she still comes.”

“Oh, that’s- Well, could I-“

“You’d have to sign up through the center again. I don’t deal with that.”

“Right. Of course.”

Anya looked around the room. “I guess I could make some space, but I don’t like surprise drop-outs.”

“It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Anya went back to the sink. “I told you, just don’t bring your trouble here and I couldn’t care less.”

——

Lexa didn’t come early on that first class back. In fact, she came last. She hadn’t meant to make an entrance, but it had started raining on her way and every driver around her had seemed to have forgotten how to handle it.

Anya or the room didn’t hush when she walked in with her squeaky boots, but one head did turn and Lexa felt like her heart jumped in her throat. Clarke’s hair was shorter, and if possible her eyes had gotten bluer. When Lexa sat at the only empty easel, at the very end of the line, she reasoned that it had to be the lighting.

“Welcome back, Lexa,” Anya formally said before showing Maya something on her palette.

Lexa looked around and found familiar smiles, some unfamiliar as well, and then stopped short. Clarke stared back with an inscrutable expression, her hand gripping a brush tightly. After all, Lexa had disappeared without a word months ago, so caught up in the nature of her feelings that she’d left Clarke to wonder what had happened to her. She might’ve heard something from Anya when Lexa had called her to abruptly drop the class, but it had been selfish regardless.

They snuck glances throughout the class, too far to share anything else. Clarke looked different, like she had finally shaken off everything that had kept her from fully embracing her art before. She was in her element and it showed. Her paint strokes were quicker, more confident, and she took up all the space allotted to her with her head high.

And when she looked at Lexa, she did so with such intensity that Lexa felt it in the pit of her stomach. Clarke didn’t blush, or glance away, or bite her lip anymore. She had nothing to hide, and nothing to be scared of. It was incredible how such confidence could change a woman’s looks. Under her gaze, Lexa barely managed to paint her background by the time class was over.

She was the first out and waited outside the building, not minding the light summer rain. Finally she saw more students walk out of the center, Echo and Wells chatting before they parted ways. Behind them, Clarke appeared talking to one of the new students, an older woman who bust out laughing before squeezing Clarke’s arm and walking in the opposite direction.

Lexa watched Clarke struggle to open her umbrella.

“Clarke,” she called out weakly.

Clarke turned around and waited for Lexa to come to her. “Hi, stranger,” she said.

“How have you been?”

“Too busy to discuss it under the rain. Yourself?”

“Busy too.”

“I figured, since you couldn’t even say goodbye,” Clarke said, trying to keep her tone light. Lexa saw the hurt in her eyes anyway.

“There’s something I need to tell you. Can we talk somewhere?”

“I was going to order pizza and watch something stupid.”

“Oof, who broke up with you?” Lexa joked without thinking.

Clarke shifted closer to her, her eyes set on her lips. “I did the breaking up actually.”

“Oh,” Lexa swallowed, and made the mistake of glancing at her lips too. “Can I offer you that ride now?”

Clarke nodded. “Lead the way.”

——

The Birch District was a twenty minute ride from the center. Clarke had left Finn their apartment and moved closer north, eager to start fresh. She lived in an apartment with a view on a park that made up for the small space, but it was the painting nook she’d created for herself that she couldn’t stop raving about. Her happiness was infectious.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle when they got out of the car. Clarke grasped Lexa’s hand, a gesture that came so naturally that Lexa wondered if she had knowingly kept herself from doing it before.

“I want to show you the space,” Clarke told her.

They walked up two flights of stairs to Clarke’s apartment, going up faster and faster for such an obvious reason that it made Lexa’s head spin.

Clarke unlocked her door and pulled Lexa inside. And then her mouth was on her. It was unexpected, and impassioned, and everything that Lexa had feared it would be. It was a kiss that didn’t want to stop at a kiss.

Lexa held her waist and moaned when Clarke opened her mouth, desperate to get a taste. She could’ve unraveled right there. 

“I’ve wanted you,” Clarke said breathlessly. “I’ve wanted your hands on me.”

Lexa exhaled shakily. She couldn’t do this, she couldn’t. It would’ve been easy to take what was so willfully offered, but Clarke’s want was based in a lie.

“Wait...”

“I missed you,” Clarke admitted. “I didn’t realize I would until you were gone, and then it felt like I’d missed you all along, even before I met you.”

“No, no, please, Clarke, stop,” Lexa begged, her heart splitting in half.

“What’s wrong?” Clarke asked, eyebrows furrowing. “I’m sorry, I know it’s fast, but I’m so tired of fighting what I want. _Who_ I want.”

“You don’t want me,” Lexa croaked, and then couldn’t stop herself: “I’m a PI.”

Clarke frowned. “What?”

“Finn hired me when you were dating. He wanted me to follow you, to find out if you were cheating. It’s my job and I did it, because that’s who I am. I’m not in advertising.”

Clarke was deadly silent, staring at her like she didn’t understand. Then, realization sunk in and her traits hardened. “Is this a joke to you? To humiliate me?”

“No, of course not. I tried to put a stop to it earlier, but I-“

Clarke stepped back, stunned. “Get away from me. Now.”

“I stopped working for him months ago. I couldn’t do it anymore, I-”

“Oh my God, shut up,” Clarke interrupted, her eyes shining with tears. “I have to be the world’s most gullible idiot to have fallen for your bullshit.”

“You’re not. Please, let me explain.“

Clarke stepped further back, her voice breaking when she repeated herself: “Get the hell out, Lexa. I mean it. You’ve said everything I need to know.”

Lexa couldn’t deny such a plea and so left, flinching when the door slammed behind her.

She breathed quickly as she made her way out of the building, but as soon as she was outside she felt the tears in her eyes, prickling and violent. She fought them hard, all the way to her apartment, but they fell eventually.

Lexa had known coming back would end like this, though it pained her in a way she couldn’t have anticipated. She felt an emptiness unlike anything she’d ever felt, a vile hollowness in her chest that wouldn’t go away.

It was her heart that had betrayed her in the first place, falling so fast and so deeply for a woman she’d been bound to hurt. But even then, Lexa couldn't imagine a world where she didn't allow for it to happen. 


End file.
